Each storybook begins with “once upon a time”

A stolen princess in a tower, the epitome of grace and poise,

A young man seeks help from a scholar who’s gone blind,

And a trusted, foolish companion he employs, 

The enemy is vanquished offstage, before suppertime,

The knight slays the beast, the realm rejoices.

The king commands a new gown for the wedding,

For who doesn’t love a happy ending?

But our tale begins in a cottage tucked into a cliff where many have lept,

When a peasant girl beats back a wolf from a vampyre in the middle of a storm,

Then asks: “Care to bargain a blessing for your life so I do not steal your breath?”

The reply? “Calm yourself, I do not visit plagues or call death upon firstborns.

But you have saved a monster, so perhaps this monster is in your debt.

No one else could not, would not hate, the knife’s edge oath I’ve sworn.”

Perhaps then, even a creature of the night is worth befriending, 

For who doesn’t love a happy ending?

Two minds: “She should be clapped in irons, to pay in gold for all her sins.”

“Perhaps I could soothe the centuries’ worth of agony in those eyes.”

“She will garrotte my throat with her canines the moment this begins.”

“Perhaps she is maple honey sweet or the tang of blood and salt with lime.”

“I will be lost underwater, too far gone for any cathedral’s hymns”

“Perhaps she will melt me like Sardinian wax, burn like Aquitaine wine.”

A hunger worth satiating, a thirst worth quenching,

For who doesn’t love a happy ending?

A story begun with a sketch, but finished with a quill,

A new breeze through the windows that clears the thin layer of dust,

A temptress folds, a lioness leaning in for the kill,

Each desire traced by gentle fingertip along the edges of a creeping blush

Two puzzle pieces curled tightly around, bare on rich red silk

Souls on display, the edge of a watercolor paintbrush

Enough pontificating then, enough pretending,

For who doesn’t love a happy ending?

Only one child between the dark angel and a pitchfork-wielding crowd

Betrayal of her kind that could only bring her name disgrace,

But the succubus merely smirked and took a graceful bow,

Clasped her lover’s hand and pierced her own heart with the stake,

And for a moment the girl could feel her own shattered on frozen ground, 

The last heartbeat sounded as lips locked in an embrace.

Should a monster’s slaying truly be so heart wrenching?

For who doesn’t love a happy ending?

Perhaps no shooting star can last; only burn bright,

Perhaps love is just like death: it seizes all who breathe in its vice grip

Neither fade with each dawning day or fresh midnight,

Neither give an honest reason before they kidnap into the mist,

Not even a maiden is immune to affairs by candlelight,

And not even a monster can escape a graze from its sharp-edged kiss,

But better to be left wounded than to be left lamenting,

For who doesn’t love a happy ending?